


One Hand Washes the Other

by tisfan



Series: Tony Stark Bingo [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, M/M, Mechanic Tony Stark, hang ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 19:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony notices that Bucky doesn't always eat with the team.It takes a while to figure out why.





	One Hand Washes the Other

Barnes didn’t always join the team for dinner. Tony didn’t always notice when he wasn’t there. At first, it was because maybe Tony _was_ there; they weren’t exactly on friendly terms. But as time went on, and Tony was a rational, reasonable person, the enmity faded. Grew into something like grudging respect, and then grudging admiration. And then, because it was Tony, it might have turned into something like a reluctant crush.

Tony didn’t like to admit that he _liked_ someone; it hadn’t usually worked out well for him. Case in point: Pepper Potts was back on the West Coast again, and sometimes missing her was like an extra hole in his chest, and he was beginning to believe that his emotional make-up was something very swiss-cheese in composition, and he didn’t need any more random aches and pains, thank you very much.

So, Tony tried not to notice when Barnes wasn’t around.

It’s not like Tony showed up to every single one of them, either.

To keep people from fighting about food, team dinners were two different protocols; ordering takeout was on a semi-random, preference oriented schedule. Which was to say, everyone entered in their personal favorites and Friday would select what people were getting for dinner. Which meant pizza was regular, as well as Chinese take away. Burgers.

The other protocol was the cooking roster, because some of the team liked to cook, and others on the team liked to sit down to a home cooked meal. Bruce, for instance, made the words best baby back ribs and absolutely would not tell anyone his secret, even swearing the AIs to secrecy and Friday diligently kept her word (traitor) and refused to allow Tony to access the kitchen camera. Not that Tony could cook, most of the time, but it was the principle of the thing.

But eventually, Tony noticed a pattern, because it was Tony.

The first night they’d done cheeseburgers, Barnes had eaten his portion with a knife and fork. Okay, weird, but a lot of Europeans did that, too, and Barnes had spent a lot of time in Europe. Tony, who drank a lot of his meals (sometimes they were smoothies and sometimes they were booze, and who asked you anyway?) didn’t comment, but Clint did.

And Barnes stopped showing up on burger nights.

He’d never showed up for pizza.

Barnes showed up for chicken one night, but he’d backed up and left in somewhat of a hurry when he saw the containers and realized it was fried chicken, not baked. Clint had waved a drumstick at him, trying to tempt him, but Barnes didn’t even look back.

Tony couldn’t help but notice a pattern after a while.

Barnes never showed up -- or left quickly if he did show up -- when the meal was something eaten by hand. Spaghetti nights, he was as deft with a fork and spoon to twirl pasta against as anyone. He ate epic amounts of steak and potatoes. Raw oysters disappeared like crazy, and sushi was a big hit, but peel-and-eat shrimp or crab legs were right out.

The guy wouldn’t eat popcorn on movie nights, either.

Well, Tony knew all about weird hangups that manifested in odd behavior, and he wasn’t going to call the guy out. Maybe it was some sort of shame-thing about the metal arm, even tho Shuri’s design was top notch, really quite elegant. Or something weird about the way it clicked when he moved it, but… well, it wasn’t Tony’s business, was it?

It wasn’t until one particularly bad bout of engineering fuge where Tony hadn’t slept in days, but had to stagger out of the workshop because he was out of coffee downstairs, and staring at the fabricator wasn’t going to make it run any faster that he actually saw Barnes.

Alone.

Sitting in front of the television, watching some late night, black and white, movie marathon and eating out of a bowl.

At first, Tony thought he had some of the left-over noodles -- there were always Chinese noodles of some sort or other in the fridge -- because the bowl was small, he was holding it under his chin, and he was wielding a pair of chopsticks with his left hand. The ridiculous mock up lightsaber kind that Tony had bought from Think Geek, because it was cool, and also because he was a little jealous that he hadn’t thought of it first.

Barnes didn’t take his eyes off the television, dipped the chopsticks into his bowl, and something crunched.

Not like a bamboo shoot, or a water chestnut, either, but…

“Are you eating Cheetos with chopsticks?” Tony couldn’t help but burst out. “Barnes, what the fuck?”

Barnes scrambled to put the bowl down; the chopsticks disappeared like a magician’s trick. “What? I was jus’ watching a movie, can’t always sleep--”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Tony said, waving that away. He knew quite a lot about not being able to sleep. “Can I just ask why?”

“Why what? Why can’t I sleep?” Barnes’s wide-eyed innocent look was both very good and damned endearing, but he wasn’t fooling Tony.

“Why do you eat like that, it’s so--”

“Weird. Creepy. Fucked up. _I know_.” Barnes heaved a sigh and by the time he was done, he looked somehow smaller and more fragile than Tony had ever seen him. This man, the one in front of him, blushing uncomfortably and fidgeting, that was a man that Tony could call Bucky. Not the cold-blooded killer, or the reluctant Avenger. He rubbed thoughtfully at the palm of his metal hand with the thumb from his right.

“Hey, I don’t let people hand me shit,” Tony said. “I am the last person to give you grief about weird coping mechanisms, I’m just wondering why.”

“Did you know that your computer keyboard has twenty thousand times more germs than a toilet seat?”

That seemed like a non-sequitur if Tony ever head one. Also, pointless. Supersoldiers didn’t _get_ sick.

“There might be a reason I use hard light and projected imagery instead of something as quaint as a mouse and keyboard system,” Tony said. Also, projected imagery was a lot cooler than a clunky board.

Barnes spread his metal fingers to their max extension, all the little plates opening up to allow for the movement. Gold and black, it was gorgeous, and Tony wanted to touch it, poke at it, because, well, he generally had a boner for engineering, even if it wasn’t his own.

“Dust gets caught up in here,” Barnes said. “An’ other stuff.”

Blood, Tony read between the lines.

“There’s no cleaning features? That just seems like a failure in--”

“It was a little easier with th’ old one because there wasn’t a lot on th’ way of actual sensitivity. Used to brush it out with compressed air, but that shit is cold, and this hand can detect temperature extremes,” Barnes shuddered. “There’s coating on the circuits, that makes it waterproof, so like, I c’n wash my hands and stuff. But it’s disturbin’ as hell to wash my hands and see… grease an’ crumbs drippin’ out. Put m’ hand in th’ sewer a few weeks back, durin’ that fight with th’ Wrecking Crew. Took me almost forty minutes t’ wash all the muck an’ grime and other people’s shit out of it.”

“Well, that’s a disturbing image, yes, I can imagine,” Tony said.

“I jus’... don’t like to touch my food with it. And I’m left-handed, so eatin’ right handed is awkward.”

“So, you don’t eat things that you can’t use utensils for,” Tony said.

Barnes’ chopsticks appeared again and he hefted a cheeto and crunched it. “Saw this on one of them videos on YouTube, some girl showin’ how to eat without messing up your makeup, or getting chip dust all over your fingers.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Tony said, and his mind was already whirring, because that’s what his brain _did_. Problems existed in order to be solved. Bucky’s chopsticks would work well for small things; chips and french fries and popcorn, but what about pizza? Cheeseburgers?

For that matter, what about raw sewage? No one should have to put up with that inside their bodies, even if Barnes couldn’t get sick, hadn’t he already gotten the short end of the stick with the unwilling body modifications?

“It works, at least,” Barnes said. He crunched another cheeto with pleasure.

Tony got a second bowl out of the cabinet, and snagged a pair of chopsticks. “Mind if I have some?”

“You pay for the groceries,” Barnes pointed out, but he poured out a serving of cheetos for Tony.

“Thanks.”

***

“What’s this?”

“Add-on,” Tony said, handing over the little disk. “It’s a-- well, consider it a deflector dish. I didn’t get a test audience on the branding, but since it’s only for people with high tech prosthetics, I don’t expect they’ll care what it’s called. Here, it goes on the back of the hand, here--” Tony picked up Barnes’ metal hand without really thinking about it, and the man froze. Tony was standing much closer than he usually did, and when Barnes glanced up at him, they were practically close enough to kiss.

“Right? Then what?” Barnes asked, not pulling back, and his blue eyes went deep and liquid.

“Well, I was studying the princess’s specs, and your arm still has an unreasonable amount of circuit heat, thus the plate mechanism, in addition to flexibility and strength, provides the cooling. So, we can’t quite do without it, yet, but she and I are doing a little collaboration, maybe make Steve Austin Mark III a little less clunky…” Tony said. “But for now… here, come here, and put your hand in this.”

There were not words for the look Barnes gave him, as Tony led him over to a bucket of slime.

“Go on, test it out.”

“I’m gonna make you clean all this shit out,” Barnes threatened.

Tony gave him a smile. “Deal. Put your hand in there, Buckybear.”

Barnes grumbled, but pushed his fingertips into the slime, which hastily shifted and pushed away.

“What th’ fuck?” Barnes -- no, _Bucky’s_ \-- eyes lit up, and the smile on his face was beyond joy. Wonder, amazement.

“It’s not very strong, but it extends about an eighth of a millimeter past the plates. Consider it a sort of electrostatic… skin. Works just like our skin,” Tony said. “Keeps all the dirt out, and…”

Bucky swirled his fingers in the slime. “I… can feel that. I can _feel_ it. Not just pressure, not… I can _feel_ that, Tony.”

“Yep, sunshine, that was the plan,” Tony said. He nodded to a cloth on the side of the bucket. “You’ll still have to wash it off, but--”

Bucky wiped his hand free, and then, before Tony was quite aware of what Bucky planned, those metal fingers were stroking down the side of Tony’s skin.

He told himself the tingles that it raised was nothing more than an effect of the electrostatic shield. He was lying, because he’d already tested it, several times, and he knew that there was no way any normal human would detect anything different about Bucky’s arm. That it would just feel like metal, smooth and supple.

“Tony, I can…” Bucky’s eyes filled and a tear spilled down one cheek.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Bucky pulled his fingers back, rubbed them against his shirt, then held them out again, marveling. “Why-- thank you, but _why_?”

“Well, mostly, because out of all of us, you deserve to be able to eat a cheeseburger in peace.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said again, and he cupped the side of Tony’s face, as if still enchanted by the way Tony’s cheek felt under his palm.

“You’re welcome,” Tony said.

“Uh, can… will you join me, for a cheeseburger?” Bucky asked. And Tony might not have thought anything of it, except at the very end of the word, Bucky winked.

“Are… you asking me on a date?”

“If I said yes, will you say yes?”

“It’s a date, then,” Tony said.

**Author's Note:**

> that statistic about your keyboard? That's true.
> 
> (ick)


End file.
